


APPLY YOURSELF

by merryghoul



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Future Fic, Gen, On the Run, Past Drug Use, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/pseuds/merryghoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "Felina:" As Jesse flees Albuquerque, he thinks of how Mr. White led him to that point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	APPLY YOURSELF

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Venturous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venturous/gifts).



The bell rang for lunch at J.P. Wynne High School.  Walter White's chemistry class was over.  His students began to leave.

"Jesse?  May I speak to you for a second?"

Jesse walked away from the classroom door.  He rolled his eyes as he approached Walt's desk.

"Did you bring your test with you?  The one I just handed out in class."

"Yeah.  So what?"

"May I see it?"

Jesse pulled the test paper out and put it on Walt's desk.  It was crumpled.

Walt pointed to the APPLY YOURSELF he wrote at the top of the test.  "Do you know why I put 'apply yourself' on the top of your papers, Jesse?"

"No."

"I don't think you're stupid, Jesse.  There's something in you that's preventing you from doing so much better in this class."

"Everyone thinks I'm stupid.  My English teacher thinks I'm stupid.  My Spanish teacher thinks I'm stupid.  Even my gym teacher thinks I'm stupid just 'cause I don’t want to do ten push-ups in his class.  Out of all the teachers in this school, you want me to believe you actually give a shit."

"I wouldn't use that word here."

"What, shit?"

"Yes.  I _know_ you can do better, Jesse.  I don't want to flunk you.  And I don't want you to get suspended for cursing.  I'm here for anything you need.  Practice assignments, peer-to-peer tutoring—I'll even tutor you myself."

"How are you going to tutor me on a Friday, huh?  You know we only got one hour for classes, yo."

"You can bring your lunch back here and I can tutor you a bit during Friday lunch breaks."

"And what if I don't show up?  I use my lunch breaks to smoke up with my boys.   I don't need tutoring from you."

"I won't tutor you."

"Well, that's what I'll do.  I won't show up. You know what?  I'm always going to be a fuck-up as long as I keep going to this school."

"If you're not going to take me up on my offer, the least you can do is try harder, Jesse.  You can pass my class with an A.  You can pass any class you want to, as long as you apply yourself."

"Yeah, whatever, Mr. White."

Jesse grabbed his book bag and walked out of Walt's class.

Soon thereafter, Jesse quit high school.

The capital letters, written in red ink, always were in the back of Jesse's mind, whether it was making his own meth with chili p or Walt's recipe for Jack and his gang: APPLY YOURSELF.  And even as he was speeding away from the Nazi hideout, those letters still were in the back of Jesse's head.

 

Jesse drove up and down the streets of Albuquerque in Todd's El Camino.  He found a station playing some edited rap song and blasted it through the El Camino's speakers.  He didn't want to think about the neo-Nazis, who were all dead, or Mr. White, who was also dead.  Or maybe he was dying and not dead yet.  Jesse didn't want to know or care.  All he knew was that he was free from all of them.

After driving around for minutes, Jesse regained his wits.  He realized he needed to see Brock. 

Jesse made a U-turn and headed towards Mrs. Cantillo's house.  He didn't care about his beard or his clothes.

Brock had to be at Mrs. Cantillo's.  She was Brock's closest living relative, and she lived in Albuquerque.  Then again, it had been months since Jesse had seen Brock.  He hoped he wasn't _too_ late and Brock, for some reason, was in the foster care system.

Jesse parked the El Camino in front of Mrs. Cantillo's house.  He took off his apron and left it in the El Camino. 

Mrs. Cantillo was tired and angry when she saw Jesse at her front door.

"Good evening, Mrs. Cantillo.  Is Brock here?  I'd like to see Brock."

"Where have you been the past few months?"

"You're not gonna believe this, but I was kidnapped."

"Kidnapped."

"Yeah.  By some f…Neo-Nazis.  They had me living in an underground cage and sh…stuff.  One of them kept giving me two flavors of Ben & Jerry's ice cream like he couldn't give me something else to eat.   I had to work for them for months.  But now they're all dead."

 "Is that even your truck?"

"No, I…borrowed it from a friend."

"You know you were on TV because you sold meth."

"I tried to make a deal with the DEA so I wouldn't have to stay in prison forever.  That didn't go through because the people who were helping me were shot by the Nazis."

"I'm going to call the police.  You should be in jail."

"All I wanna do is see Brock.  After I see him, I'm gonna go.  You and Brock are never going to see me again.  I promise."

Mrs. Cantillo sighed.  "Come in."

Mrs. Cantillo led Jesse to Brock's room.  She woke him up.

"Brock, I have a visitor for you."

Brock sat up.  "Jesse!"

Brock hopped out of bed and hugged Jesse.

"I missed you, Jesse."

"Yeah, little man, I missed you too.  I wanted to see you before I went away."

"Where are you going?"

"I can't tell you, but I'm getting away from Albuquerque.  I have to."

"Why do you have to go?  You just got back."

"I needed to see you one last time to tell you something."

"What's that?"

"I'm sorry I left you and your mom.  I thought it was the right thing to do.  It was the _wrong_ thing to do.  If I did, maybe I could've stayed with you.  But I couldn't say no.  I did some things I regret."

"Things?"

"I can't explain them, but they were bad things.  People got hurt.  Your mom got hurt because of the things I did.  I tried to be a good guy, but I'm a bad guy.  I don't deserve to be in your life.  I'm sorry, Brock."

"This is goodbye, Jesse?"

"This is goodbye."

Jesse hugged Brock one final time before he left Mrs. Cantillo's house.  Then he went back to Todd's El Camino and sped away.

And then it hit him: He couldn't drive around in the El Camino forever.  He killed Todd; the bastard deserved it, but it was still a crime.  The El Camino was still registered in Todd's name.  Sooner or later the police was going to discover there was an El Camino at the Nazi hideout that wasn't there.  And he had to see Brock one last time.  If the police found Jesse…well, he was fucked.

Jesse had to do something, and fast.  But something was bothering him, and it wasn't the rap on the El Camino's speakers.  It was a voice, a nagging voice, Mr. White's voice: "You idiot."

Jesse was thinking of Tohajiilee again.

 

It was Jesse's turn to crank the generator.  Walt was sitting in one of the lawn chairs.  He was trying to fan himself with his hand, but the fanning wasn't working. 

"You know, Jesse, I'm thirsty.  I'd like a drink of water.  But I can't drink any, because you used all our water to extinguish the generator."

"I'm working as hard as I can to get this thing going, okay?"

"We wouldn't be in this predicament if you'd look at the dashboard and saw the ignition was still on."

"I think I got it going."

"No, you don't.  That thing's never going to start up again, and I'm going to die in the middle of an Indian reservation with about 50 pounds of meth in a barrel, bags of onion corn chip rings—"

"Funyuns, yo.  They're fucking delicious."

"And an idiot hand-cranking a generator because he doesn't know how to read a dashboard."

Jesse stopped cranking the generator.  "I'm not no idiot, Mr. White."

"Shut up and get back to work."

 

Jesse knew driving to a convenience store was one of the stupidest things he could do.  If he was still being bossed around by Mr. White, Mr. White would spend the rest of the day berating him.   But Jesse couldn't remember that vacuum repair shop's number.  Maybe a clerk would have a phone book he could borrow, and he would be able to write the store's number down and call at some pay phone somewhere else. 

Jesse parked the El Camino out of sight from the convenience store and walked in.

"Hey, um, I'd like to borrow your phone book.  And do you have a Sharpie or something?  I need to write down a number."

"You don't have to," the clerk on duty said.  She didn't recognize Jesse.  Maybe Albuquerque wasn't as attentive as Jesse thought it was.  "You could always borrow the phone in here—"

"No, I gotta be going.  I gotta drive all night to make it to California soon."

"Okay."

Jesse flipped to the vacuum repair listings in the yellow pages of the phone book.  He scanned all the listings: Albuquerque Vacuum Repair, First Street Vacuums and More, Shaw Vacuums.  The only listing that looked familiar to him was Best Quality Vacuum Repair.  Jesse wrote down the Best Quality Vacuum Repair number on his hand with the Sharpie. 

"Thanks," Jesse said as he closed the phone book and left the phone book on the convenience store counter.

 

As Jesse was driving around the outskirts of Albuquerque, looking for a pay phone far away from where people could see him, his mind went back again to the weekend Mr. White and he cooked a lot of meth.  He still felt bad about not going on his date to the Georgia O'Keefe museum with Jane, and the weekend almost ended with them stranded in Tohajiilee with meth and junk food.

But there was one bright spot that weekend before it went to shit.  Jesse was cooking a batch of meth by himself while Walt had a break to cough up blood.  When Walt cleaned himself up and went back in the RV, he studied Jesse's meth.

"Very good, Jesse.  Cook more just like this."

It was one of the few times Walt validated Jesse's work without hurling insults at him.

 

Jesse found a phone booth on the edge of town, near a restaurant.  He dialed the number on his hand.

The automated message for Best Quality Vacuum Repair started playing: _"You've reached Best Quality Vacuum Repair.  Our store hours are Tuesday through Saturday, 10 to 6.  If you need after hour repairs, please leave your name and number and we'll get back to you as soon as we can with a quote.  Thank you and have a nice day."_

The message gave way to a beep.

"Yeah, this is Jesse Pinkman.  I'm calling from the pay phone at Martha's Waffles.  I need a dust filter from a Hoover Max Extract 60 Pressure Pro.  I think I need some after hour repairs because I really need my vacuum working, like, today.  My vacuum's in the back of my truck.  It's a black El Camino at the back of the restaurant.  I'll be tinkering with it inside the truck."

 

Minutes later, a red Toyota Previa pulled up beside the El Camino.  Ed was in the Previa.  He tapped on the window of the passenger side door of the El Camino.

Ed pointed to his Previa with his right thumb.  "Get in, kid."  

 

After Ed took Jesse's picture for a fake Alaskan driver's license, he showed Jesse his new room under Best Quality Vacuum Repair.  It was the same room Saul and Walt were forced to share when they were hiding from authorities. 

"Do I really have to stay in there?"

"This is a legitimate place of business.  You can't sleep with the vacuums upstairs."

"I spent a few months living in an underground cage where this dickhead kept feeding me ice cream.  That's all I see when I come down here."

"You'll only be here for a couple of days, tops.  It helps that your face isn't all over the news right now.  If it'll make you feel better, I'll go and get something to eat for you on my lunch break.  You got a favorite food?"

"Uh…Funyuns?  Frozen lasagna?"

Ed sighed.  "I'll pick up a two liter of Coke, the biggest bag of Funyuns I can get and some lasagna from an Olive Garden."

 

For a while, Jesse sat on the bed in Ed's bunker.  He couldn't disassociate the bunker from the cage at the Nazi hideout.  Yes, Ed had a bed, a mirror and a sink in his bunker, but all Jesse could envision was being in the cage again, sitting on whatever the Nazis called a bed, looking at a picture of Brock and Andrea.

He thought of them in the cage.  He still thinks of them in the bunker.  If only he had the balls to stand up to Mr. White and stayed by Brock and Andrea's side.  Andrea would still be alive and Brock and he would be playing a racing video game right now.

Then again, somewhere along the line, someone would arrest him.  If not for meth, he would've still been arrested for murder.  Jesse accepted he was a monster a long time ago, but sometimes he had to remind himself.

And sometimes Jesse had to remind himself he wasn't in the cage anymore.  He looked at his clothes.  Ed had found him a sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers too big for his feet at goodwill.  He wasn't wearing what anyone was telling him anymore.  And Ed had left a razor by the sink.

Jesse sighed.  He got off the bed and started shaving his beard off.

 

The next day, Ed showed up in the bunker with a duffel bag.

"Got you a going away present.  I hope you like it.  There are some sweatshirts, pants, sneakers that fit you, a two liter Coke, another bag of Funyuns and $5,000 in the bag.  Should last you a couple of months, give or take.

"Also found a place for you to stay in Anchorage.  You'll be okay as long as you lay low.  When I get to Anchorage, it's the last time I see you."

"Yo, what about Nome?  Or somewhere smaller?"

"You can't drive straight to Nome. You want to go to Nome, you fly there yourself.  Leave my name out of it."  Ed cleared his throat.  "We'll be traveling to Anchorage in my propane tank.  There's no propane in the tank."

"You want me to travel to Alaska inside a propane tank."

"Kid, it's four more days inside a propane tank.  Real time, it's actually three, but I need sleep and rest breaks.  I'll get extra food for you when I refuel at one of those combination fast food gas stations.  I'll even watch your back while you're pissing off the side of the road.  I'm taking the week off because of you.  You're the second most special client I've ever had.  Be grateful.  I could hand you over to the police and open the shop next week instead."

"Who was the first?"

"Walter White."

"Of course."

 

Jesse sat inside the propane tank the way he did when he first arrived at the rehab facility. 

He remembered taking his bath robe, wrapping it around himself, and heading out to the rehab facility's pool.  He found a chair there and sat still, watching people walk and socialize around him. Back and forth, he heard Walt saying _I deserve this_ in his head.

Jesse found himself finishing Walt's sentence.  _I deserve whatever happens._

_I deserve this._

_I deserve whatever happens._

Jesse let the words bounce back and forth in his memory until a man with blonde hair, a graying beard and glasses walked up to Jesse. 

"Hello.  I'm…" Jesse forgot the name of the group leader at rehab.  Not like it mattered.  "I'm going to help you get better."

The group leader would fail to help Jesse get better, let alone remove the sentiment in his head.

Ed interrupted Jesse's thoughts when he opened the bottom door to the propane tank.  He slid Jesse a 20 ounce Coke bottle and a small McDonald's bag. 

"I hope you like Big Macs."

 

Ed arrived at an apartment complex in Anchorage a few days later.  There was a ground propane tank nearby to make it look like Ed was going to refill the tank.  He let Jesse and his bag out of the truck's propane tank.

“Here's your apartment.  I suggest staying here and not going to Nome.  But if you'd like to go to Nome, Ted Stevens is a few miles away.  Take a cab and duck your head.  Or pay some hush money.  Whatever works.  Good luck, kid."

Ed shook his hand, prepared his propane tank and truck to get back onto the road, and drove away from the apartment complex.

 

Jesse managed to get a cab, go to Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport, and get on a last minute flight to Nome.  Albuquerque police, if they were looking for him, weren't expecting him to turn up in Alaska, and if they were, they wouldn't be expecting him to use the alias of Benjamin Charles O’Neill.  He ducked security cameras by covering his face, turning his back against cameras or hiding under them.

 

Jesse took a window seat on the plane.  It allowed him to look out the window and think as he observed Anchorage from above.

As the plane flew through the clouds, Jesse thought about the last time he saw Mr. White before he dropped out of high school.

_If you're not going to take me up on my offer, the least you can do is try harder, Jesse.  You can pass my class with an A.  You can pass any class you want to, as long as you apply yourself._

He repeated that scene in his head for a few minutes in his head until he combined what Mr. White said in his head:

_The least you can do is try harder.  As long as you apply yourself._

He thought about how he choked Todd to death with his chains at the Nazi hideout and how he refused to shoot Walt there.  Whatever it was Mr. White rigged up to kill Jack and his gang, it also shot him.  It wasn't like Mr. White wasn't going to die, anyway.  And now he's dead.  Jesse thinks.  It wouldn't surprise him if somehow Mr. White cheated death and the authorities and was on his way to somewhere with that Ed dude and that propane truck. 

Jesse had always respected Mr. White.  The guy created the best meth in the Southwest, maybe even the world.  He blew up a couple of buildings.  No, it was a building and a rest home room.  But it was still awesome.  He made that battery for the RV.  And then there was whatever killed the Nazis and maybe killed Mr. White.  The guy was a genius.

But Mr. White used people.  Ever since Jesse got in the meth business with Mr. White, he had to do what Mr. White told him to do.  And ever since Jesse left the hideout, he was doing what _he_ wanted to do for a change, for, like, the first time in two years. 

He saw this show on TV which talked about Nome.  The show said nothing about not being able to drive up there, something Ed did know about.  If he knew, he would've thought about going somewhere closer to Wasilla and shit.  But there were job opportunities there.  He could lie and get on one of those gold mining boats.  He didn't know how to dive, but there had to be some way to get money on one of those boats without diving.  Or he could try to get some lumber and build things.  Wooden boxes, bookshelves, sluice boxes for the miners—there had to be some need for a guy that makes things out of wood in Nome, right?

And Nome was far, far away from cops.  Nome had its own set of cops, but even then, it would take a while for Jesse to be arrested up there.  And Alaska is big.  He could always bounce around in a few towns and maybe the woods before getting caught. 

But Jesse _chose_ to go to Nome instead of Saul's shitty idea for him to hide in Florida.  There was that small victory. 

 

Jesse decided to walk and save the cab fare as well as prevent another witness from seeing him.  He had Ed's duffel bag; it wasn't like he was hauling anything heavier.

On his flight to Nome, the person sitting beside him on the flight told him to check into the Nugget Inn if he wanted a place to stay for a while.  It was only about 30 minutes by foot, and Nome was a much slower-paced town than Albuquerque.  If he got hit by a car, then whatever, he got hit by a car.  But it wasn't likely to happen.

The sun was shining in Nome.  The weather was chilly, but it wasn't blistering cold.  Everything about the road from Nome Airport to Nome was gorgeous: the mountains, the grass, the flowers.  Even the road was gorgeous. 

Jesse didn't know how long his freedom would last, but if this is what freedom felt like, he'd relish it for however long he had it.


End file.
